


Drowning

by October_rust



Series: Drowning/Currents [1]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval/Fantasy, Angst, Kissing, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 17:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12512048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/October_rust/pseuds/October_rust
Summary: Lord Wayne is taken hostage by the renegade knight called the Red Hood.





	Drowning

“Leave us.”

His men obey, giving him sharp salutes before departing. The heavy oaken door closes behind them with a low, groaning noise.

Silence falls, interrupted only by the distant tolling of the church bells. The battle ended just an hour ago and ever since Gotham has been mourning her dead.

Jason ignores the sound, pushes it away, along with the pangs of his guilt, to the edges of his mind.

The battle, the dead – it doesn't matter.

All of his attention is focused on the man kneeling before him.

Not that Lord Wayne went to his knees willingly; it was Jason's men who had to force him down, and hold him there. 

I won, Jason thinks, as he leans back in his chair and studies his captive.

Lord Wayne's hands are bound behind his back. The black breastplate he's wearing is dented in places, the Bat sigil on his chest marred with deep gashes. His face is drawn, the lines around his mouth more pronounced, and there's still battle grime and soot on his cheeks and forehead.

And yet his chin is raised up high, and his eyes meet Jason's, steady and calm.

I won, Jason tells himself once more, stubborn, but the words still ring hollow.

I took his city.

I took his castle.

Hell, even the chamber in which they are having their little reunion used to be Lord Wayne's private study, and now it's all Jason's.

He pushes himself up from the chair, stalks over to Lord Wayne. Unhurried, his hand on the pommel of his sword, he starts circling around the man. 

Wayne doesn't flinch – of course he doesn't – but there's a flicker of some dark emotion in his eyes, a minuscule tightening of his lips, when he takes in Jason's red armor. 

Red, like all the blood Jason has spilled. Red, like his new name that people always repeat in hushed whispers.

Greedily, Jason drinks in Wayne's sadness and disapproval, even if they are brief, and Wayne is quick to suppress them. He knows Wayne well enough, and that perfect, inscrutable mask Wayne is so fond of hiding behind doesn't fool Jason in the slightest.

“You have nothing to say, Lord Wayne?” Jason asks. “I thought you'd be more happy to see me.”

“Jason.” Wayne dips his head in acknowledgment, the gesture cold and formal. 

“There, all better.” Jason stops in front of Wayne. “Now that we're done with pleasantries we can start discussing much more interesting matters. Like your fate, for example.”

Wayne firms his jaw. “Do with me as you like. I don't care.” He takes a deep breath. “But let Dick and Tim go. They are innocent, they have nothing to do with any of this.”

“Nothing?” Jason gives a thoughtful hum. “Are you sure, Lord Wayne? Because many priests and wise men would argue that sons should bear the consequences of their father's sin.”

“They are innocent,” Wayne repeats, his voice like steel. “And if you were to seek retribution against them, it would be injustice. You know it, Jason.”

Jason looks down at that proud, noble face, and seething hatred starts clawing at his insides. Lord Wayne, the Dark Knight, famed for his courage and steadfastness, the paragon of all the virtues, and yet he failed Jason when Jason needed him the most. 

“Injustice?” he asks in a deceptively mild tone. “Let me tell you about injustice, Lord Wayne. How about that time when you didn't avenge me and let my murderer walk free? When you protected the Joker from me? Where were your vows back then?”

Wayne goes pale, and those powerful shoulders slump, as though weighed down by some heavy burden.

“You wanted to kill an unarmed man,” he says, eventually. The words are quiet, filled with a deep weariness and resignation. “Jason, it was madness. If I had let you do that, you'd have been no different from him. You'd have damned your soul.”

Jason barks a laugh. “That's a good one. My soul.” He shakes his head. “It's always the same with you, isn't it, Lord Wayne? Honor and duty, all those empty words. They all matter to you more than I ever did.”

Wayne closes his eyes. “That's not true, Jason. You were, you are – “

“Your biggest mistake, right, Lord Wayne?” And now Wayne does go rigid. Jason presses on, deriving cruel joy from the way his voice cuts through Wayne. “And spare me your excuses about saving my soul. It was never about that. It was never about me. You did it for yourself, because you didn't want to sully your honor and break your precious rules. At least have the courage to admit that.”

He spits out the accusations, but his anger doesn't abate. If anything, it burns hotter, poisonous and bitter, heating his blood, eating away at the frayed edges of his self-control. His gaze slides over Wayne, the closed eyes, the dark eyelashes fanning against pale skin, the beautiful mouth set in a hard line, the pain and sorrow etched on those handsome features.

Damn you, he thinks. Damn you, you bastard.

A lifetime ago, he would have done anything to earn even the smallest praise from Lord Wayne's stern lips, to see a warm glimmer of approval in Wayne's gray eyes. And, gods help him, this fierce, raw need is still tugging at him – it's like a chain and collar that binds him to Lord Wayne, the links forged in such a way that they will never break, and he's forever doomed to hate and want this man.

“Do with me as you like,” Wayne repeats, head bowed in defeat. “If this is the only way for you to find peace, then do it.”

Peace.

Jason wants to laugh again. If only it were that simple. If only he could just cut Wayne out of his heart and soul. But he's starting to realize it's a folly. Not even dying and returning from the dead has freed him from this malady and quietened the storm of rage, love, and yearning that he feels for Wayne.

“Do with you as I like, huh?”

Jason goes down on one knee, so he's level with Wayne. The irony of their position isn't lost on him, and Jason thinks back to the moment when he and Wayne were praying together like that, on the night when Jason was about to become a knight and pledge his life to his lord. 

Now he simply reaches out and cups Wayne's chin, tilting that proud face up.

Wayne frowns at him, a hint of surprise in his eyes.

They stare at each other for a long moment, and the silence around them grows thick and heavy.

“There's no peace for me,” Jason whispers eventually, just before he leans forward those last few inches, and covers Wayne's – Bruce's – mouth with his own.

It's gentle and tentative, barely more than the faintest brush of lips, but it's enough to completely undo Jason. The heat of Bruce's skin under his palm, the way his breath softly mingles with Jason's – it's all stunning and new, firing up through Jason, filling him with hope and warmth. His fingers tremble as they cradle Bruce's cheek, and he wants it to last forever, in that wonderful, hazy suspension between dream and reality. 

Please, he begs.

And for a few heartbeats he almost believes it. But then he catches himself, notices that the lips under his are stiff and unyielding, that Bruce's – Wayne's – whole body is rigid with tension.

Ice slithers through his veins.

Oh.

Of course.

He immediately lets go of Wayne, gets up to his feet. 

Fool, he thinks as he looks down at himself, at the blood-red breastplate covering his chest, what a thrice damned fool I am. 

He will never learn, will he?

The shame and disappointment taste like ash on his tongue, and his self-loathing wells up in a pitch-black wave, ready to crash over him. 

He's finally proved what a twisted monster he is. Lord Wayne's mistake, an undead freak brought back by the unholy magic to sow death and destruction everywhere he goes.

“I have my answer, I guess,” he says, and can't help a cold, bitter smile that tugs at his lips.

Wayne is only staring at him in dismay. “Jason, wait – “

“I have all that I wanted from you, Lord Wayne,” he interrupts. “Don't worry, I will demand ransom for you, Grayson and Drake. I'm sure the king will pay it all, given that you're his first and most beloved knight.”

He turns away and strides to the door. He pauses there, looks back at Wayne one last time.

And it's the last time, he's sure of it, so he commits it all to memory, despite the pain that stabs at his heart.

The mournful echo of the bells is ringing in his ears as he exists the chamber.


End file.
